


the long way home

by skittidyne



Category: Magi: The Labyrinth of Magic
Genre: Gen, M/M, Post-Series, Sad with a Happy Ending, because the ending from his pov is cruel, if that ending is all we're gonna get then i'm gonna turn it into something decent for ja'far
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-13
Updated: 2017-10-13
Packaged: 2019-01-16 20:40:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12350280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skittidyne/pseuds/skittidyne
Summary: Sinbad always manages to surprise Ja'far.It is rarely pleasant.





	the long way home

**Author's Note:**

> i had a lot of feelings about magi ending, so i wrote them. liberties, i'm sure, have been taken, but i've made it as canon as possible, considering the openness of it all.

His wires aren’t elastic.

They have very little give to them. Ja’far can manipulate them rather precisely, both as weapons and as (previously) household vessels, and he knows exactly how much force is needed to snap one. It’s a lot.

The first time he broke one it had been an accident when he’d been eight. It had snapped in a flash, and one had struck him across the cheek because he’d been too surprised to even try to dodge. They always break so quickly, with no sign of give prior. It’s only through experience that he knows what that breaking point is. He’s experienced enough to dodge them now, or turn it to his advantage.

The will of the ruhk breaking is a lot like that first snap: quick, surprising, and painful.

It is in a single, brilliantly clarifying moment that Ja’far realizes what Sinbad has done.

He’s had a lot of those moments, too—moments where he’s _realized_ that Sinbad has done something. Serious moments, and frustrating moments. Everything on a scale from realizing Sinbad has snuck out to get drunk (again) or Sinbad has ruined his own ruhk in an effort to save a dying country.

This hurts most of all.

 _What can I say, when you tell me off so bluntly?_ Sinbad had looked at Ja’far, _looked him in the eye_ , and lied to his face.

Ja’far, like a fool, had believed him.

Ja’far now stands on the wrecked battlefield, staring down giant winged monsters and wondering why he had been so desperate to throw himself into their blades. It has been a long time since he’s been that kind of stupid. It had usually more directly involved Sinbad.

 _He did it_ , Ja’far realizes and it’s like a slap across the face. _Sin did it_.

 

—

 

There is work to be done. There is _always_ work to be done.

Ja’far likes work, especially the repetitious, organizational kind, and he excels at it. He likes the logistics of running things. He’s been put in charge long enough that he knows exactly what must be done, and how, and when. First it was the Sindria Trading Company, then Sindria itself, and then the company again.

And now, Sindria again.

Even if most of the other Generals hadn’t had to return to their own home countries, none have ever argued about Ja’far being left in Sinbad’s stead. Drakon is still here, which helps, but Ja’far will not stoop so low as to admit he needs the support. There is _work_ to be done. Work always comes first.

Borders to re-draw, new alliances to forge and foster and secure, figuring out how to handle the land lost, division of supplies and resources… And rebuilding. Ja’far has gotten very good at the last part. He hadn’t wanted to do it for Sindria again, but experience is experience, and Ja’far knows how to do this, too.

It is three weeks before Aladdin shows up.

Ja’far almost doesn’t recognize him at first, for how tall he’s gotten, how much he’s grown. It is initially reflex that allows him to open his arms as Aladdin throws himself at him. “Wha— _Aladdin_?!”

“Ja’far, it’s so good to see you!” Aladdin cries. He does a wonderful job at sounding like his usual chirpy self, but Ja’far knows better. Aladdin clings to him a little too hard for this to be a simple hug.

But he is still the one who pulls away first, though he still holds onto both of Ja’far’s hands in his.

“You’re so big now! You’ve grown!” Ja’far exclaims, and Aladdin preens. That, at least, is not faked.

They catch up. They tiptoe around the subjects of Sinbad, and David, and Arba, and what had happened. But it’s nice to catch up on all the years spent apart. Aladdin describes the wonders he’s seen, Ja’far jokingly complains about more paperwork, and by the time Aladdin has launched into something about giant red lions and some sort of connection they have to the Fanalis, Alibaba and Morgiana have joined them.

It’s so good to see them all again, alive and whole and happy. Morgiana offers half as many words as anyone else, but she gives Ja’far small, private smiles whenever the other two aren’t looking, and that’s enough for him. Alibaba sheepishly (but proudly) announces his engagement, and Ja’far sincerely congratulates them. They still don’t talk about what looms over all of them.

It is funny, at least, to see everyone’s reactions when they’re reintroduced to Drakon.

Ja’far realizes—a slower and softer realization—that this is the first time he’s laughed since before everything happened.

But the moment passes. So does the brevity. Ja’far can only guess why they’re here—he can’t very well refer to them as children anymore, even if they’re so young, they’ve seen so much and have grown into fine heroes in their own right—but he knows it has to do with their missing King.

“You two were the last ones,” Aladdin begins, apologetically, but wearing a sad sort of smile. Ja’far and Drakon sit on one side of one of the old conference tables, and Alibaba and Morgiana sit on either side of Aladdin. No one sits at the head of the table. “Not on purpose, though! Alibaba was already in Heliohapt, and Hinahoho ended up there because the northern seas are suddenly neighboring the desert!”

“I guess they’re not northern anymore?” Alibaba says with a valiant attempt at what is supposed to be a grin. Ja’far nods, indulges him. He can’t bring himself to smile back.

“I had to check in with Yamraiha to make sure that the magic wasn’t going to go haywire again, and Morgiana and Masrur had some… things to talk about with the Fanalis. Pisti was on the way, and Spartos met us at the border, and… and then we made it here,” Aladdin says. He still has that sad smile on. He looks like he’s too old for his round cheeks and bright eyes.

Ja’far nods again.

“You don’t have to worry about hurting our feelings,” Drakon wryly tells him. “It’s not as if we haven’t been busy. There’s a lot to do, rebuilding the world together.”

Alibaba’s grin that time is true. “But there’s already been so much good progress! We’re working on finalizing borders, and we plan on stopping by Balbadd next.”

“We’re avoiding the Kou empire again,” Morgiana solemnly tells them, and for a moment, Ja’far fears another war, so soon and so costly. But then she adds, “Kouen won’t stop bullying Alibaba.”

“Kougyoku can handle things there! I’m not worried about her or her people,” Alibaba hastily tries to cover, but as with most things he does, he’s too earnest to lie that well.

“We’re doing what we can to help everyone,” Aladdin says, “but everyone’s doing really good without us, too. So we’re mostly just trying to share information and make sure that things go smoothly.”

Share information. Ja’far subtly straightens in his seat. “Does that mean you’ll explain to us what _exactly_ happened? There have been a lot of conflicting reports and… worrisome rumors.”

Aladdin’s smile widens, but it also becomes sadder. He takes a steeling breath, and Ja’far holds his. “Uncle Sinbad sends his apologies. To you—both of you—and to Sindria.”

It as much as Ja’far has thought—has feared. Of course Sinbad’s last moments were dwelling on the fate of his country and his (prior) Generals. His family. Sinbad may have gone down a dark path, alone again despite Ja’far’s insistence, but he has always had a warm heart. He has always cared too deeply about too much.

Ja’far lets out the breath he’s holding. To his dismay, heat prickles behind his eyes. He doesn’t know why; nothing that has been said is surprising. “Of course he did,” Ja’far mutters.

Beneath the table, Drakon’s hand finds his, and he gives it a squeeze.

Ja’far values Drakon’s presence now more than ever, but when this is over, when the day’s work is over and they can finally rest for just a moment, he will still have Saher and Ja’far will just have an empty bedroom and cold bed. It’s unfair of him to be bitter towards his friend, he knows.

“But this isn’t the end!” Alibaba breaks in with his usual amount of tact. “He’ll definitely be back! We’re working on breaking down the barriers between the dimensions still, and with all the ruhk back and balancing itself between the colors, soon everything will be together! Honestly, it’s… kind of what he wanted, too.”

Taking turns, Aladdin and Alibaba explain what happened to Sinbad’s plan, and with Arba, and with David. Ja’far had already known most of it: Sinbad had told him of it. _Small chance he could die_ , he recalls, and digs his nails into his palms to prevent any of that from showing on his face.

Morgiana stays silent, polite but disinterested. No doubt she has heard this numerous times. But Ja’far can’t help wondering where she had been during this, too. Fooled by the ruhk’s rewriting, fooled by _Sinbad_ , left behind by the man she loves. Ja’far can relate.

When all is said and done, when all the gaps are filled with further knowledge and heartbreak and bitterness, the sun has long set and the lamps have been lit. They cannot stay long, just a few days, but of course they’re welcome in the palace. Old palace, since it houses no King, but it still has plenty of room and Ja’far even manages to smile when Alibaba challenges Aladdin to a race to find their old rooms.

“Are you alright?” Drakon asks as soon as they’re alone.

Ja’far takes a deep breath before answering. “It’s nothing we hadn’t guessed at. So long as the world is stable now…”

“Are _you_ alright,” he repeats, more firmly.

Ja’far smiles helplessly. “There’s a country Sin has left to me to run. What choice do I have?”

 

—

 

When Masrur visits, he hugs Ja’far. This stuns Ja’far more than anything else in recent weeks, and, off guard, he manages to burst into tears in public.

Everyone is embarrassed after that.

But Ja’far manages to laugh again when Masrur refuses to believe that Drakon is Drakon at first. “Your scent has changed,” Masrur _accuses_ , squinting suspiciously at him and keeping Ja’far between them.

“I don’t have scales anymore. That could be it,” Drakon deadpans. Saher is at least polite enough to hide her own laughter with her long sleeve, but her shaking shoulders give her away.

When Hinahoho visits, he and Ja’far visit Rurumu’s gravestone together, and Ja’far cries again. At least this time, it’s more familiar; this stone has likely seen more of his tears than anything else in the world. Hinahoho understands. He weeps, too.

By the time Yamraiha and Sharrkan show up, together, _already_ bickering before they even greet them, Ja’far is done crying about this and can finally enjoy the visiting family. He hates that it’s _visiting_ , but he has had several years to make peace with the fact that their lives have branched from one another. Not everyone had been with them for the first Sindria, or for the founding of the second. Drakon has made jokes about this being a third, when their moods have been light enough to handle it, and Ja’far thinks there may be some truth to it, for how much they must repair.

But progress is progress, and familiar faces ease the ache in Ja’far’s heart.

They do not ease the sight of an empty room every night, but if he works until he passes out at his desk, then he can avoid that, too. Life goes on. For an ex-assassin, it’s been a valuable and cherished lesson to learn.

Ja’far gets Sindria back into working order, and faster than several other countries, he proudly notes. Citizens have begun calling him General again, most by accident, and he won’t fault them for that. With the International Alliance gone, perhaps for the best for now, and with a lack of personal clothing, Ja’far has taken back to wearing Sindrian robes. They’re a familiar comfort. They’re also easier to hide weapons in—the return of another old, familiar comfort.

 

—

 

It’s Empress Kougyoku who first broaches the topic.

Not officially, but she is still a head of state, and she is still making a point to ask it aloud, even if it’s over a small, private dinner. “I’ve heard people call you General again. Is that out of habit, or is that how Sindria is being run now?”

“ _Pardon_?” Ja’far asks, nearly choking on his wine.

Kougyoku flusters, hiding behind her sleeve, but not as shy as she once was. Only embarrassed. They’re all still learning how to deal with each other as sovereign nations again, after all. “Are you taking the title of King? It’s not my place to suggest anything, of course, but I would like Kou and Sindria to remain on friendly terms, and there have been unkind rumors about you…”

King. _King_. Ja’far’s mind reels. He has had experience in charge of Sindria, and businesses, and even alliances between countries, but he’s never _truly_ been in charge. There has always been…

But Sinbad isn’t here anymore. There is no figurehead to maintain stability with the public. Ja’far can’t believe he has overlooked this, but he has fallen into old habits so easily, he has managed to miss something so important.

King.

Ja’far has never wanted to be King, not since he met Sinbad.

“What kind of rumors?” Ja’far asks so he doesn’t have to address her real question.

“There are the usual claims that you’re usurping Sinbad’s role, but anyone who knows anything knows that that’s untrue,” Kougyoku says with flat humor. Ja’far manages a smile from behind his wine. “There is, of course, also talk that you’re unfit for this since you’re not royalty, but there was talk of that about Sinbad, too… There is also, um, rumors that you and Sinbad were not only intimate, but that you had been secretly wed and you’re rightfully inheriting—”

This time, Ja’far does manage to spit out most of his wine. His face feels hot in mortification, but he’s not certain if it’s the fact that other world leaders are entertaining such gossip, or if it’s the fact that they were ready to allow it.

“I’m sorry!” Kougyoku exclaims, too loud and rather shrill, loud enough for guards to duck inside.

And by guard, Ja’far notices that it’s Judar.

This does not help his mood, especially when Judar loudly asks, “Are you alright, ya old hag? The old assassin isn’t going to return to old ways and end up killing _another_ ruler, is he?”

Ja’far has drawn his darts on pure, reflexive memory.

Judar grins, feral, and points his staff at him.

There is no Sinbad to pull them apart this time.

“Please, stop this!” Kougyoku shouts, and it is no plea, but rather an order. Judar, shockingly, lowers his weapon first, though he gives her a dirty look. “Judar, go. I’m _fine_ here. We were just having a discussion and I said something impolite.”

Ja’far slides his daggers back into his sleeves. It’s almost amusing to think that a mere assassin suddenly has a lot more sway over politics; without the metal vessels, violence has returned to old-fashioned bloodshed. He could actually be a very real threat to Kougyoku. He likes her more for ignoring that.

Ja’far waits until Judar has shut the door again and they have privacy. “I’m sorry,” he says, curt but sincere. “That was uncalled for.”

“I’m sorry, too. For the same reasons. Gossip is just gossip, and I had no place implying things.”

“…Just General, please, Empress. Sindria doesn’t need a new King,” Ja’far tiredly tells her.

 

—

 

Ja’far ducks out of sole leadership as soon as is feasible while keeping Sindria stable. There is a council, and Ja’far feels more comfortable having a seat on it with Drakon and Pipirika at his side.

The world has evened out. Borders are tentatively agreed upon, and trade is ongoing, if unstable. Food rationing is still in effect, but not harshly, and Ja’far feels good about this year’s harvest. Sindria is no longer an island solely in a sea of plenty, but they still have access to the ocean, and that is enough to keep the citizens from feeling totally overwhelmed. They’ll always be a people of the sea.

Ja’far gives up his old bedchambers and moves into a smaller room, closer to his office. He’d done the same thing in Parthevia. Then, it had been a mark of the growing rift between he and Sinbad. Now, it’s a mark of Ja’far reclaiming his own life from his grief.

Countries once again have ambassadors, and there is little surprise as to who manages to squeeze their way in, despite half of them being leaders in their own right. Ja’far certainly can’t say no to any of them, though he also doesn’t pity anyone when he gives them the work associated with their new role. Sharrkan complains the most, of course.

Ja’far attends Alibaba and Morgiana’s wedding with pride. Sharrkan cries the most, of course. It’s a wonderful way to see people he’s missed again, and he’s so glad for a happy occasion. He even doesn’t care that it disrupts his work schedule. Some things are worth it.

(Sinbad had always been so demanding when it came to attending weddings. Ja’far thinks time _should_ be made for happy occasions.)

Several months later, Saher announces her pregnancy, and Masrur sends word of a new son of his own. Privately, Ja’far likes this news more; he has a soft spot for children and he has missed having little ones to spoil and teach. He wonders if he could manage to tease Alibaba about future children, but it wouldn’t be worth the effort to set up a meeting for something so casual.

Alibaba sends word, every so often, of how the dimensional magic research is progressing. Yamraiha updates him, too. Ja’far pays attention, but not too closely, knowing it’s best not to get his hopes up for anything grand. There is a lot no one knows about magic, even magicians, and while Alibaba is a person who can maintain eternal hope, Ja’far is not.

There are things to do in the meantime, anyway.

Sinbad will return, one day, when his stubborn way with destiny finally overcomes whatever barriers he’s stuck behind. If that means Ja’far gets one more moment with his ruhk, so be it. If it means a new life, so be it. Ja’far refuses to hope or dwell when there is work to do.

 

—

 

To Ja’far’s immense surprise, the next ex-magi to visit Sindria (the third) is not Titus on an political visit, but Yunan. In his usually falsely carefree manner, he floats in through the window and lands in front of Ja’far’s desk, smiling wanly at Ja’far’s open shock.

“Is he hiding from me again?” Yunan asks, looking around curiously.

“Pardon?” Ja’far manages.

Yunan casts a long, perplexed look at him. “I know things have not always been clear or warm between us, but he has no right to hide this time. I’m not a magi anymore.”

“I-I know, but… Yunan, _why_ are you here?” Ja’far asks. “Not that you aren’t welcome in Sindria, you _are_ , but you can’t just wander in like you’re a neutral magi anymore.”

“I’m still a neutral party,” Yunan replies, as if affronted. “But… he hasn’t made it back, then?”

“ _Who_ , Yunan?” He hasn’t seen Aladdin for some time, and while Alibaba bounces around between countries with gusto, there is always so much fanfare accompanying him that he’s difficult to lose.

Yunan’s eyes go wide, however, at Ja’far’s own confusion. “Oh,” is all he says, and he zips back out the window like his pants were on fire.

Ja’far buries his head in his arms. Even without Sinbad, even without being a magi, Yunan is still as frustratingly vague as ever. He wants to believe it’s not pettiness motivating him, but sometimes, he wonders.

 

—

 

Drakon sees Ja’far down the corridor, turns sharply on his heel, and marches away.

Pipirika gasps aloud when she sees him later that day, and must be dragged away by her attendants with a hand clapped over her mouth.

Ja’far is certain he’s going insane.

It’s not near when they think his birthday is, nor any Sindrian holidays, new or old. It’s not the anniversary of anything. Ja’far has no idea what they could be planning, but he is certain they _are_ planning something, and as used as he is to these types of shenanigans from years long past, he only hopes that they’re still doing their work on time. Let them ‘surprise’ him. Just so long as Sindria doesn’t suffer for it.

It’s nearing sunset when he’s finally sent for. Ja’far indulges, and is led outside the palace and along one of the old paths that _had_ led to the beach and now just leads into rather hostile forest. Neither Drakon nor Pipirika meet him, nor any visiting friends, and the attendant just ushers him toward the forest.

Ja’far sighs, pulls out his daggers, and heads in.

Wildlife is strange with the world now, but nothing he can’t handle, even if he manages to miss a first strike on some sort of strange winged monkey and ends up with blood on his robes. He will _not_ be the one to clean that, no matter what sort of surprise everyone thinks they’re planning for him.

A clearing has been cut, not halfway into the forest, and a small fire has been set up.

Sitting cross-legged across the fire is Sin.

His robes are plain, unmarked, clearly used for travel rather than his usual vanity. His hair is tied back more sloppily than ever, but it’s still long, and while he does not wear any jewelry, his eyes are gold enough to make up for it. He appears solid, and he appears present.

Sinbad grins at him and cocks his head. “Uh, hi, Ja’far.”

Ja’far takes two strides forward and has him wrapped up in wires before he can blink. Ja’far seizes the front of his robes, just like so many times before, and presses the tip of a dagger against his jaw.

He doesn’t smell of alcohol, or perfume, or even sex, but Ja’far knows Sinbad’s scent. He knows the way Sinbad ignores the danger presented to raise his hands, begging Ja’far off, and he knows that little twitch he gets in his left eye when he’s worried Ja’far might be serious this time. Ja’far knows Sinbad’s body as well as his own, and if nothing else, this is certainly him before him.

“You died,” Ja’far tells him with _admirable_ calm considering the maelstrom in his mind right now.

“I did, technically,” Sinbad allows.

Ja’far presses his dart against him until it draws a bead of blood. “I told you _I_ was going to be the one to kill you. Thank you for giving me this second chance, Sinbad.”

“In hindsight, I should have expected this reunion to go as much. In fact, I think I _did_ expect it, because I’ve been terrified of the prospect ever since I came back,” Sinbad admits to his face, still grinning, even if it’s in terror now.

It occurs to Ja’far that Sinbad doesn’t have any metal vessels. Or weapons at all. This could very well be the time Ja’far gets to kill him.

“Everyone else knew,” Ja’far realizes aloud. This is a sharp kind of realization, but it doesn’t sting after the fact.

“Not everyone, but yes. You weren’t the first. Yunan thought it’d be wise to have some insurance in case you killed me and dumped my body somewhere.”

“You lied to me,” Ja’far says.

The smile slips off Sinbad’s face at once.

Ja’far releases him, and they crash together in a wild mesh of limbs and that stupid, too-long hair, and the wires Ja’far hasn’t been able to let go of since coming back to Sindria. He doesn’t even know what he’s doing. This is no killing move, nor is it romantic; he simply needs to touch as much of Sinbad as possible, to convince himself this is real and true and _happening_.

Ja’far doesn’t cry, but Sinbad does, and Ja’far only notices when Sinbad tries to hide his face in Ja’far’s shoulder.

“I’m so sorry,” Sinbad says, before Ja’far can accuse him of trying to earn undue sympathy. “I’m _so_ sorry, Ja’far. I know what I did—that’s not why I’m apologizing. I’m not apologizing for dirtying my hands anymore.”

Ja’far remains silent, but he ends up with his arms around Sinbad, allowing him to cry into his shoulder. The positioning is awkward, and Sinbad is as heavy as ever, but Ja’far will tolerate his discomfort for this miracle.

“I’m sorry the last words between us were lies. I’m so sorry I did that to you, Ja’far. You’ve never deserved anything but my trust, and I broke yours when it mattered the most.”

Sinbad has always been a very composed crier. Ja’far had thought it all an act until well into his teenage years. But he knows Sinbad, now as much as in the past, and these tears are genuine. Ja’far runs his fingers through Sinbad’s hair, like how he knows always soothed him.

“I’m not asking for your forgiveness. I don’t deserve that. But I would like a piece of my life back, no matter what I must do to earn it.”

“You’re not having a seat on the council,” Ja’far tells him.

Sinbad pulls away from him. He’s smiling again, wet cheeks catching the firelight. “You won’t be able to resist me given a month.”

“A month is very ambitious of you, considering how much paperwork you have to do to hold a seat of power in a rebuilding country,” Ja’far replies.

Sinbad’s smile falters, but his eyes remain warm, and Ja’far realizes—too late, again—that he is hardly paying attention to what he’s saying.

Sinbad leans in, slow but unstoppable in his affection, and kisses Ja’far.

Ja’far has been waiting to kiss him again for too long.

The kiss remains chaste, and simple, but long and full of too many emotions they cannot put into words. When they pull away, Sinbad rests his forehead against Ja’far’s, then grumbles a little and yanks the gem and chain both off Ja’far’s head. Ja’far retaliates by pulling out the tie to Sinbad’s hair.

“Barely back together and we’re already aggravating each other,” Ja’far sighs, but Sinbad is again smiling too warmly and isn’t paying attention. He presses kisses to Ja’far’s cheeks like he’s counting the freckles. “You know, I had rather hoped you’d be reincarnated. I bet you were a cute child.”

“Didn’t you miss me as a man?” Sinbad pouts. “I’m better use to you and the world both if I know how to talk.”

“You talk too well for either me or the world to handle,” Ja’far flatly replies.

“Perhaps I talked myself into coming back to your arms.”

“Perhaps you’re spouting shit like you usually do, and this is the point in which I ought to ignore your words.”

Sinbad laughs, and Ja’far has _missed_ the sound so desperately he cannot help but laugh himself, too. They fall into each other again and don’t stray until morning.

 

—

 

“You know,” Ja’far says as Sin pokes around his new room with poorly concealed displeasure, “I’ve always pushed for you to get married. If I didn’t have existing visibility as your right-hand man, there could have been a hell of a time figuring out succession.”

“You did it,” Sinbad replies. “You always do it. Figure things out, get it all done. Sindria couldn’t have been in better hands.”

“It could have stayed in _your_ hands,” Ja’far says pointedly. Even with Sinbad’s return, some wounds aren’t healed, and Ja’far has never been merciful to those who have wronged him.

“Let’s get back to the marriage thing,” Sinbad says, weakly, and pretends to hide from Ja’far behind one of the bedposts.

“A political marriage would hardly benefit you now, but if we planned it properly…” Kougyoku is out of the question, and Hakuei is now wed to Kouen. He isn’t certain how yet to present Sinbad’s return to the rest of the world; that must be handled delicately, and that will decide any future maneuvers for Sindria, he supposes. Ja’far hates waiting games.

“I think rule of succession is what we ought to keep in mind here,” Sinbad volunteers.

“Oh, you’re agreeing to a marriage now? Did death give you new perspective on life?”

“Your words still cut me more harshly than any blade,” Sinbad says with equal parts affection and exasperation. “And you’re ruining the moment, Ja’far. I’ll agree to one marriage, and one marriage only.”

Ja’far closes his eyes and prays for patience. _Please let his next words not be a scandal in the making_.

“You,” Sinbad says.

And again, too late, Ja’far makes a realization.

But weddings have always been happy occasions, and they need more of those.

This time, it’s Sin who rambles onward about the advantages and disadvantages—solidifying Sindria’s power, legitimizing Ja’far (even though he already has a seat on the council, something Sinbad refuses to acknowledge as he has no legitimate power of his own now), and, of course, eagerly playing into the political rumors—and Ja’far who doesn’t pay attention. He instead studies Sinbad.

Alive, real, present in his room. Present in his life once more.

The world has shifted, and Ja’far’s world with it ever since he realized what Sinbad’s lie had meant, but yet again, Sinbad has given Ja’far a second chance in life. Yet again, Ja’far knows he will take it, perhaps a bit more willingly this time.

“Alright,” Ja’far says, and smiles at the confused way Sinbad trails off.

“But I had speeches planned to convince you,” Sinbad says, still looking at Ja’far like a particularly perplexed puppy. “I had a very grand metaphor comparing wedding vows to your promise to kill me. I even had a few lewd remarks about dirtying our hands together.”

“I would very much like to skip those, thanks,” Ja’far replies.

 

—

 

Ja’far realizes he is no longer uncomfortable applying the word _love_ to what he feels for Sinbad only at the wedding. When he tells him, Sin just laughs, and kisses him soundly in view of everyone.

“I’ve loved you since you were covered in blood and dirt and helping me up in that coliseum ring and scolding me in the same breath,” Sinbad says, like he doesn’t recontextualize most of Ja’far’s memories in the process.

He will never stop surprising him. Ja’far hopes he never does.


End file.
